Between Angels and Demons
by GregorianChant
Summary: A week after the events in Translyvania, Van Helsing is dispached to Spain to investigate reports of demons. What does one in particular know about Helsing's past as Gabriel?
1. Marching Orders

Chapter 1: Marching Orders

Feathers: that was the first thing he noticed. There were feathers everywhere. They littered the ground all around him, although he couldn't see where they could've come from. He looked down at his hands: they were dirty and worn. That's right. He was Van Helsing… how could he forget? Had he done this? He was standing in some kind of corridor, gray stone walls on either side of him stretching up into darkness. There were no torches or windows; nothing to provide any glimmer of light. He strained his eyes and turned to examine the carvings covering the walls, but as he moved, pain immediately brought his attention to a pair of blazing wounds across his back. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and fell to his knees, hands clenching against his legs as he rode out the wave of agony. He could taste blood in his mouth and he spit it out onto the ground before it made him ill. The dark red liquid splattered across the feathers. White… they were white, he registered vaguely.

He took a deep, shuddering breath to calm his nerves before ripping off his coat, heedless of the pain that rampaged through his body at the movement. He tossed it aside, noting the ruined state of the leather. His vest and sweater followed afterwards. They were all tattered and covered in blood across the back. Dear God, what had happened to him? He braced his hands against his knees, gulping down a handful of breaths to let the throbbing pain pass. Slowly, carefully, he reached a hand back and touched his shoulder. He winced, fingers finding an open, angry wound that ran strait down his back. From the feel, he could assume there was a similar mark across his other shoulder. Why couldn't he remember how he had received these? He growled in frustration, wiping his fingers across his pants and struggling to his feet. Whether he was getting used to the pain or it was naturally fading, he found it was getting easier to move.

He made it to the wall, pressing his hands against the cool stone for support. The strange carvings he had seen before made even less sense up close. Some kind of strange language was scrawled across the walls, etched into the stone as far as he could see. He felt as if he should know what it said, but nothing came to him. What was going on here? Where was he?

As if in answer, a wind whipped down the corridor and he could swear that he heard his name being called from somewhere within the darkness. Steeling his resolve, he turned into the wind and started walking, one hand still pressed against the wall. He heard his name a second time, and this time he was absolutely sure that someone had spoken it. He free hand went instinctively to his hip, searching for the pistol that was normally there, only to find nothing. Not even a holster. He uttered a silent curse and continued walking.

Eventually, he noticed a light at the end of the corridor and he surged towards it. The closer he got to it, the more the air whipping around him turned stale. It became thick, hot and rank. He pressed a hand over his mouth and continued on. The light was blinding and he couldn't see for several moments after stepping into it. Blinking, he squinted out into the world reveled to him. What he saw nearly knocked him off his feet. He knew this place! He stood in the middle of Vatican City. All around him, bodies were strewn across the pale stone ground. He could see everyone from common citizens to holy men amidst the number of dead. Panic clutched at his chest. God… he wasn't responsible for this, was he? As he took in the massacre, his eyes caught sight of something familiar. He staggered forward, desperately trying to believe that he was simply seeing things. What was all this?! He dropped to his knees beside a robed body and pushed it over, his stomach turning as he recognized the face. His fingers clenched around the dark, blood soaked robes and he could feel a scream welling in the pit of his stomach he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop.

Van Helsing awoke with a start, jerking up in bed. Dear God, who was screaming? After a moment in the dead silence of the night, he realized that it had been him. He ran a hand across his face, grimacing at the cold, wet feel of his skin. More nightmares, but not the usual staple of disturbing images of a past he was too young to remember. Recently he'd been having a disturbing number of dreams that seemed uncomfortably close to home. It was almost enough to make him wish he could have the old kind back.

Wide-awake now, he swung out of bed, pausing to touch the back of his shoulder. He felt the faint ridge of an old scar; one of two he knew ran down his back. Scars he didn't remember ever receiving. Sighing, he made his way to the single window in the room and pushed it open, letting the thin winter air in. Rome. He silently thanked the higher powers that the air in Vatican City was fresh; the last thing he needed tonight was a face full of industrial air, although the view presented to him did little to settle his stomach. His dream was still bitterly fresh in his mind and even though the stones of the courtyard below were dark in the night, he could still imagine the bodies laid out on them. The glimmer of sunrise caught his attention in the east. Today was going to be a long day.

There was a flock of particularly fat doves that frequented a small, ancient courtyard deep within the walls of the Vatican. The fact that the doves were fat at all had a great deal to do with the fact that Van Helsing made a point of feeding them whenever he had a day to spare. The grassy courtyard itself was tiny for Roman standards: barely a handful of yards in any direction and graced with a small, cherub-covered fountain in the center. Four stone paths connected the fountain with the surrounding open-air halls. Van Helsing sat on the single stone bench, his coat draped haphazardly next to him, and tossed bits of bread to the cooing birds at his feet. The chanting of monks and the mumbles of those in prayer drifted in on the winter air and Van Helsing let his mind drift with them.

It had been just shy of a week since he had returned from Transylvania. On some level, he was surprised that Father Jinette hadn't just turned him around at the gate for another assignment, as he was fond of doing. Van Helsing entertained the notion that maybe he had some empathy after all. Yet as the days dragged on, Helsing found himself increasingly restless. He lacked the number of distractions necessary to keep his mind from going where he would prefer it not to. His short time in Eastern Europe had affected him far more than he was comfortable with. The words of the late Count Dracula echoed strongly in Van Helsing's painfully empty memory, taunting him with what he could have had. Then there was Anna.

To say that Van Helsing had been heartbroken when he discovered her dead would have been putting it lightly. He had wanted to be with her more than any other person on the earth, and in the end she had left him alone. He remembered her words too, but they brought him some small amount of comfort instead of the expected pain. He would see her again one day. He too would look on the brighter side of death.

A familiar voice talking in short, clipped Italian caught Van Helsing's attention, snapping him from his thoughts. Cardinal Jinette. A glance around the courtyard told Helsing that he might be able to escape if he moved right that moment, but he had spent the past week dodging the old priest and he was getting tired of it. If the Cardinal was looking for him, then he might as well just see what he wanted.

The sound of Jinette's shoes against the marble floor stopped abruptly behind Van Helsing.

"Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?" he offered in greeting, not bothering to stand up. He knew it would drive the older man up a wall and the notion amused him.

Jinette narrowed his eyes at the back of Helsing's head briefly. "You've had your time off, Van Helsing. We have need of you again."

Van Helsing waved his half-eaten loaf of bread around dramatically. "You mean the world has need of me."

"Don't be smart," Jinette scolded. "You need to go to Spain and investigate the disappearance of a village."

Van Helsing turned to regard the Cardinal over his shoulder, not exactly sure that he had just heard what he thought he had. "What?" Instead of answering, Jinette turned away and started down one of the open hallways. Van Helsing jumped to his feet, grabbing his coat and leaving the last of the bread for the birds as he hurried to catch up.

The Cardinal resumed. "We received a frantic letter the other day, saying that 'demons' had stolen an entire village from the face of the earth. One does not simply 'misplace' such a thing, so we are sending you to investigate."

"This is new," Van Helsing said, his tone honestly interested for once. "Since when have you sent me off and not told me to kill something?" As the words left his mouth, he knew his choice of terms had been less than perfect, but thankfully the Cardinal seemed to let it slide. Or so he thought as Jinette turned sharply to him, jabbing a gnarled finger in his face.

"Demons are not to be taken so lightly, my son," he said, his tone dripping with annoyance. "All that you have faced before have been but mere servants to the greater evil. You should pray to God that this is not the work of Satan's children." Jinette crossed himself and resumed walking. Van Helsing stared after him, stunned at the outburst. Normally the Cardinal seemed more than happy to toss him out into the fray, convinced that he would come back in some semblance of health. To hear him express such concern didn't do much to soothe Van Helsing's growing unease.   
  
Next Chapter: "Call Me Sam."  



	2. Call Me Sam

Chapter 2: Call Me Sam

* * *

"Demons?" Carl's voice cracked with that interesting mix of excitement and terror that was uniquely his. "Don't expect me to come with you, Van Helsing! I've had my fill of facing evil for this lifetime." He scurried around a large apparatus and vanished from sight. Van Helsing sighed in frustration at losing track of the friar and ambled over to inspect a small collection of artifacts.  
  
"I'm not asking you to come with me," he called, sure that Carl was somewhere close by, even if he couldn't see the man. "I just need your expert advice." If there was one thing Van Helsing had learned very quickly about Carl in the seven years he had known him, it was that appealing to the friar's ego was the quickest way to get him to cooperate without a fuss. Pride was a sin and it amused Van Helsing that Carl got away with so much of it. Sure enough, not a minute later, the friar came shuffling up.  
  
He regarded Van Helsing with a critical eye, as if he still wasn't convinced that the man wouldn't trick him into joining his madcap crusade. "You're going to get yourself killed. How's that for advice?" he quipped, obviously still upset.  
  
Van Helsing toyed with a rosary and raised an eyebrow at Carl. "Everyone seems so convinced that I'm going to meet my end. What makes this any different from, say, vampires?" He emphasized the word and watched Carl squirm. "They called Dracula the Son of the Devil and he's dead. I should think the only person I have to be worried about is Lucifer himself."  
  
"You're going to get yourself in trouble with that tongue of yours one day, Van Helsing," Carl admonished and Van Helsing laughed for the first time in weeks.  
  
"You're one to talk!" he answered, stuffing the beads into the pocket of his coat. "So enlighten me, Carl. What are we dealing with and how do I kill it?" The irony of the phrase was not lost on the friar, who Van Helsing could hear groan.  
  
Carl started off between tables piled high with all manner of objects. "When you're dealing with a demon, you're not dealing with someone who was once a man. These are the creatures that such men draw their powers from. I'm very serious, are you listening to me?" He turned around and glowered. Van Helsing snapped his attention away from a rack of swords.  
  
"Absolutely, Carl."  
  
"There's God, there's man and between them is the Devil, Van Helsing. Take these." Carl shoved an ammo box into Van Helsing's hands. He opened it and inspected the rows of bullets inside: while the material was bronze and nothing to get excited about, it was the silver markings etched into the head of the bullet that interested him.  
  
"What are these?" he asked, squinting at the tiny carvings.  
  
Carl snatched the bullet from Van Helsing and placed it carefully back in the box. "The words of angels. You might be needing them," he explained before hurrying off again. Van Helsing followed, his former mood melting away. He was almost certain that the carving on the walls in his dream had been similar. It was something he would have to think about at length on his ride to Spain, however at the moment Carl was throwing things at him. He struggled to balance the collection of holy water canisters and crosses being given to him. Finally, he set everything down on a table and went looking for something to hold everything.  
  
"What about that big gun, Carl? Can I have that now?" he called out, finding an unused satchel and returning to where the friar was standing watch over the collection of items.  
  
He sighed, crossing his arms under his robes. "Are you still stuck on that?" Van Helsing simply smiled pleasantly. "Considering what happened to my crossbow, I wouldn't let you have it even if it would be useful!"  
  
Van Helsing winced and started putting the usual staple of field items into the satchel. He was hoping Carl had gotten over the fact that he had lost the crossbow somewhere in the Transylvanian woods. That the friar hadn't noticed the bow was gone until they were several days back at the Vatican didn't seem to matter and when the realization had struck, Carl had been livid to say the least, chewing Van Helsing out as well as he knew how. He didn't blame Carl; the crossbow was a wonderful invention and would have served him well on future assignments. It had been the friar's brainchild and he'd been very proud of it. Van Helsing supposed he could almost sympathize. When he looked up from his work, Carl was gone. He was about to call for him when the friar reappeared, this time holding a thin, elegant looking blade.  
  
He offered it out. "It was tempered with holy water. I'm not sure how well your Tojo blades will work, so it's perhaps better to use this."  
  
Van Helsing took the blade and it's accompanying sheath, strapping it around his waist. When he looked up, Carl looked lost in thought. "Is something wrong?"  
  
The friar waved a hand. "I had a thought. I'll have to send something after you to Spain, as it will take some time to make. I'm sure it will come in handy." Van Helsing merely regarded Carl curiously, but didn't pry. Asking him about anything still in the design phases usually ended up in the friar going on a longwinded tangent as he brainstormed with his mouth open. Van Helsing shouldered the satchel and regarded Carl, who still looked deep in thought.  
  
"Is that everything?"  
  
"Oh... oh! Yes, that should do you for now. Cable us when you've apprised the situation and I'll send some extra things to you." As Van Helsing turned to go, Carl grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "Your faith in God is your best defense, Van Helsing. Don't let it falter."  
  
The intense look in Carl's eyes was enough to make Van Helsing almost scared. So his friend knew. Helsing's faith in God had been lacking since his return from Transylvania, but he had thought that he'd hidden it well enough. He should have expected someone like Carl to pick up on it. What had the Cardinal told him before? That this was all a test of faith?  
  
Van Helsing nodded to Carl, steeling his expression. "I'll talk to you soon, my friend." Apparently placated, Carl let go and allowed him to vanish into the steam and gloom of the armory.

* * *

What if one day you met God, the Cardinal had asked him once, and he sent you on a mission? With God on your side you would fear nothing, but if you did not know that He was the one who had given you such a mission, every day you would question it. It was what Van Helsing's life boiled down to ultimately: a great big question mark. The ride to Spain offered him several days to ponder that question mark.  
  
The first things on his mind were the carving on the bullets and the walls in his dream. He didn't recognize any symbols directly from the bullets, but they were of a similar style to the wall markings. Carl had called them the words of angels... why would he be dreaming of a language he had never heard of, much less never read or spoken? Then again, he hadn't recalled ever learning Romanian or Italian either. Or Spanish for that matter, but he had a nagging feeling that he might know it anyway.  
  
The mention of angels had also brought back a few of the new bits of information he'd been mulling over after Transylvania. He was the only one that knew the truth behind Dracula's death; that Van Helsing himself had been the one to murder Dracula four hundred years ago. He hadn't even told Carl that bit of information. Frankly, the idea that the friar might start brainstorming about him terrified Van Helsing. He had said that perhaps some things were best left forgotten and he was beginning to wonder if his thirst for his past might be more habit now than actual need. The connotations behind what he had begun to piece together were such that he wasn't sure he wanted to remember who he was anymore.  
  
Perhaps Frankenstein's Creature had been right in simply wanting to live life. When Van Helsing had lost Anna, such a notion had been driven home with the same force as a nail in a coffin: he had wanted to simply live as well, but he had wanted to do it with Anna. He could have simply existed with her and never given another thought to his past for the rest of his days, but all he was left with now was the old habits.  
  
Even so, could seven years worth really be considered 'old'? He wondered how far back some of those habits actually ran.  
  
Thankfully, the site of the missing village wasn't very far past the Spanish borders. The less contact Van Helsing had with the general populous the better. The ride through France had been interesting enough and he didn't feel in the mood to discover if there was a price on his head in Spain too. It was bad enough that he was told to meet someone at the small town of Catalina.  
  
As the sun set on the second day of his ride, the town came into view: it was set along the coastline of the Mediterranean, its white stone houses grouped along a small hill that lead down to the beach. From his position atop a low coastline cliff, Van Helsing could make out the town center and its saintly statue. That was where he was supposed to meet with whoever was taking him to the former village, although it seemed too late now to go anywhere. Still, he had to meet this person. He hoped they weren't fond of sleeping early.  
  
He rode up to Catalina, dismounting at the edge of town and walking his horse down the narrow roads to the statue in the central plaza. It was strangely empty for such a pleasant night, but then again Van Helsing supposed he would stay indoors too if there was talk of demons around.  
  
He made a small sound of approval at the lack of angry glares or weapons pointed in his direction. "I could get used to this," he remarked idly, patting his horse on the neck and glancing around for a place to tie him up.  
  
"Señor! Señor!"  
  
Van Helsing turned at the sound of a child's voice to see a young girl run up to him, her skirts flapping wildly around her little legs. He cleared his throat and greeted her in choppy Spanish. Instead of answering him, she snatched his horse's reigns in one hand and his coat sleeve in the other and began tugging him down a side street. When it came to children, Van Helsing found himself at their particular mercy. It had always been that way and he was quite sure that his singular love for the young had something to do with that past he couldn't remember. There really was no other explanation for it.  
  
"Where... where are we going?" he tried, finding that the words were coming easier to him the more he thought about it.  
  
"My papa's house!" the girl answered, not breaking pace. "He said that you were coming and he sent me to go and get you." She flashed him a wide grin over her shoulder, obviously elated at having been charged with such an important task. Van Helsing couldn't help but smile back, his mood improving.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Isabel!" she proclaimed proudly. "My papa says you are Señor Helsing. You have a strange name."  
  
Van Helsing's smile grew. "And you have a very pretty name, Isabel." She giggled, and then stopped abruptly. Helsing glanced up to find they were standing in front of a ranch house. In the fading light he could just barely make out a few horses in a field out back.  
  
"I can put your horse away, Señor Helsing. Papa is waiting for you inside," Isabel said, letting go of Van Helsing's sleeve. He hesitated for a moment before removing the pack from the back of the animal and allowing Isabel to lead it away to where he assumed a stable to be. Shouldering his equipment with a sigh, he stepped up to the front door and knocked.  
  
An older woman greeted him, her dark hair held up in a loose bun away from her kindly face. She invited him inside, her full skirts rustling as she moved aside to let him enter. He nodded his thanks to the woman and she returned the gesture with a small curtsy. As she shut the door behind him, he took stock of the house. It wasn't fancy, but it wasn't poor either. The foyer he stood in stretched upward, taking up both stories of the house and strait back he could see a narrow balcony flanked by a set of curving stairs that obviously lead to the second story. The walls were sparsely decorated, mostly with paintings of what Van Helsing assumed to be ancestors or scenery. Apparently this family had lived in the house for quite some time. He turned slightly to watch the woman hurry off and when he turned back, an aged man was walking down the stairs. Van Helsing noticed a faint limp in his left leg.  
  
"Van Helsing, I assume," he called when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I apologize for sending my granddaughter, but I have a bad leg and it pains me sometimes. You see I can barely make it down the stairs!"  
  
"It's no matter," Van Helsing said, looking the man over. He was dressed in what looked like fine linen, his thinning gray hair slicked back along his spotted head. His keen black eyes seemed out of place on his aging face.  
  
He offered a hand out and Van Helsing took it. "I am Benito Ortiz de la Cruz. I know well of the Order that has sent you." He smiled, pulling back his hand and placing it with his other atop a dark wood cane, the head of which seemed to be detailed with some heavenly scene.  
  
"Señor Ortiz," Van Helsing began, but the old man cut him off.  
  
"Please, call me Benito."  
  
"Very well. I'm in somewhat of a hurry, so, do you think you might be able to direct me to the, ah, missing village tonight?"  
  
Benito was silent for a moment, regarding Van Helsing before turning back towards the stairs and hobbling towards them. "My leg tells me we're due for some rain tonight, my son. Please follow me and I will show you where you can put your things."  
  
Van Helsing sighed in irritation at being delayed, but followed the older man as instructed.  
  
"I am aware of your dubious reputation elsewhere in the civilized world, Señor Helsing, but here you are safe. Catalina is a God fearing town and we know to treat His servants with the proper respect," Benito continued as they made their way down a long hall that seemed to span the length of the upper story. "The village you are looking for was called San Millan. My son and daughter-in-law had lived there for years, but I thank God that my Isabel was here with me when it vanished. If she too had perished, I would have swiftly followed them from grief. She is my world, Señor Helsing.  
  
"Can you understand such a loss?" he asked, stopping to turn and face Van Helsing.  
  
"Yes, I believe I can," Van Helsing answered simply, his tone grim.  
  
Benito regarded him in silence for several moments, before nodding absently. "I can see by your face that you are a true man, as you should be. I expected little else. Your room is here. Please, make yourself comfortable. Tomorrow we will take you to the village." At that, the old man left Van Helsing standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. He watched Benito enter another door halfway back down the hall, and then turned to look out the great window that took up the wall at the far end of the hall. Benito was right: there was a storm coming in, for Van Helsing could see lightning on the horizon. Strange for the season, he thought. Perhaps it was better after all if he got some rest and waited until morning.  
  
It felt good to sleep in a bed designed with comfort in mind, as opposed to the spartan furnishing provided back in Rome and Van Helsing had little problems falling fast asleep. The dreams came quickly and the next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a barren, wind-blasted field. The sun beat down upon him and as he worked to remove his coat, he found his back aching along the lines of his scars.  
  
"I was wondering when you would show up, Gabriel. You sure took your time. It's a shame that they've still got you running around like a chicken with its bloody head cut off, going here and there... Amazing that you haven't figured out to just lay down and die yet."  
  
Van Helsing spun around, coming face to face with a young man. He backed up a step, suddenly uneasy; something seemed strange about the man, like a painting when the lines were off. There was something, but Van Helsing couldn't put his finger on it exactly. Trying to think about it only fed a growing anxiety within him.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Me? Oh, you can call me Sam."

* * *

a/n: Oops. Thanks for the correction about "señor". I don't speak Spanish myself (can you tell?) and the one person I know who does is gone for the weekend. For all the work I'd done trying to make sure I got things right, I think it was a gimmie that I would miss something.  
I'm no expert on Europe, so if anyone notices anything that I got wrong, please point it out. Thanks.  



	3. Uneven Bargain

Chapter 3: Uneven Bargain

* * *

The next morning found Van Helsing, Benito, Isabel and a young man from the stables by the name of Luis saddled and on the road towards San Millan. Isabel had insisted on coming along and while Van Helsing was apprehensive about allowing an old man and a child to put themselves in potential danger, Benito was the only one who knew the way and Isabel was adamant about not being left behind. She had turned down Benito and Luis' offers to ride with them, instead climbing up into Van Helsing's lap, much to his surprise and embarrassment. Still, he had to admit that riding with an openly enthusiastic and giggling child was soothing to his troubled mind. His dream the night before had left him deeply disturbed and Isabel was a welcome distraction.  
  
Sam, whoever he had been, had said that he would see Van Helsing at San Millan that afternoon with the answers that he was looking for. Exactly what questions he planned on answering he didn't say and that worried Van Helsing more than anything else. Some part of him doubted that "Sam" would even show up at all; that he was simply a figment of his exhausted mind. He would like to see Jinette's face if he told the old Cardinal that he was seeing things now. The idea worked a chuckle out of him.  
  
Shaking off the memories, he wrapped one arm securely around Isabel and kicked his horse into a gallop, the sounds of Isabel's delighted squeals trailing after them. He relished the wind on his face and let the crisp morning air and the simple thrill of racing across the Spanish plains ease his spirits. When he finally pulled his horse up to a stop on top of a low rise, Benito and Luis were mere dots in the distance. Isabel was gasping with laughter and attempting to make sense of her hair. Van Helsing smiled slightly and helped her work out some of the more persistent tangles.  
  
"That was fun!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Papa never lets me ride that fast. He says, 'when you are older Isabel!' I'll be seven next year, so that means I'll be older and I can ride as fast as I want." She seemed very pleased with this logic.  
  
Van Helsing hummed in the back of his throat, amused. "Your parents must have their work cut out for them trying to find the little lady that's in there somewhere." He let Isabel finish fixing her hair in silence before speaking again. "Do you visit your grandfather often?"  
  
"I've lived with him since I was little. He says God said I should stay with him so that I could grow up good," she said, tilting her head back to look up at Van Helsing. "Did God tell you where to live?"  
  
"God doesn't tell me much," Van Helsing answered, glancing down the hill to find Benito and Luis riding up.  
  
"You'll become a bad influence on Isabel, señor Helsing." Benito admonished, his voice betraying his good nature despite his words. "We are nearly there. Just over the next hill is the place you seek."  
  
Van Helsing nodded, pulling his horse up alongside Luis' and handing Isabel over to him despite her complaints. "I shouldn't be long," he called, kicking his horse back into a gallop.

* * *

Van Helsing tied his horse to a tree at the top of the hill overlooking the site of what used to be San Millan. There was no mistaking that there had indeed been something here, for the faint lines of the building's foundations could be seen in the dirt and the area was eroded with generations of use. Except any sign of human habitation here had vanished, just like the reports had said. Frowning, Van Helsing made his way into the village limits, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary.  
  
"Oh, you came alone. Splendid!"  
  
Once again caught off guard by that voice, Van Helsing turned to find Sam, as expected. The young man was standing some ways away and Van Helsing didn't see any place that he could've been hiding before. The mystery deepened. Sam appeared exactly the same as he had in the dream: tall and almost unnaturally thin, dressed in a simple white tunic and pants. A long braid of blonde hair hung down his back and his dark blue eyes were piercing.  
  
"I was wondering if I would have to talk to you in front of an audience," he continued, pacing his way closer to Van Helsing. "I generally try to keep away from ... public speaking. What is it that the old wives say? Don't wash your dirty laundry in public?" He grinned and the expression was completely disarming. Van Helsing shook his head to clear it.  
  
"You said you had answers for me," he said sternly, forcing his mind to stay on track. The strange 'off-ness' about Sam was once again making his insides do flips.  
  
Sam waved a hand absently before clasping both behind his back. "I did say that, didn't I? Well, I suppose what answers I have depend on what questions you decide to ask. After all, you can't have an answer without a question and I didn't say I had those." When Van Helsing didn't respond, Sam frowned. "Oh, come on. I know you have hundreds of questions you could be asking me. I'll answer anything you want to know to the best of my ability and believe me when I say that I am quite able."  
  
"Okay," Van Helsing started slowly, "let's start with why San Millan is missing."  
  
Sam heaved a sigh, coming to stop a few meters from Van Helsing. "Always about business. Very well. It was taken to get your attention. I cannot tell a lie!" he finished, holding up his hands at Van Helsing's incredulous stare.  
  
"That's it?!" Van Helsing snapped, feeling his anger rising. A village full of innocent people was wiped out of existence to get his attention? They couldn't have just sent him a note? A brick through his window would've been preferable over this.  
  
"Oh, that's the simple and sweet version of it, actually," Sam stated, blinking in surprise as he suddenly found Van Helsing's pistols trained on him. "Oh my."  
  
"How do I undo this?"  
  
Sam chuckled. "Oh, Gabriel. There's a question I can't answer. I'm so sorry," he backed up a step as Van Helsing ratcheted back the hammers on both guns. "However, I do believe we could come to an agreement in regards to this unpleasant situation."  
  
Van Helsing didn't falter. "State your terms."  
  
"Come with me for a little while and listen to what I have to tell you and I'll see about getting in touch with the proper authorities about returning this little village."  
  
"Is that it?"  
  
"That it," Sam said, spreading his arms in a friendly gesture. "I just want your ear for a spell and we'll get about to returning these people to their silly lives."  
  
Slowly, Van Helsing lowered his weapons and returned them to the holsters at his hip. He regarded Sam for several long moments; trying to figure out what game the young man was playing. Yet every time he seemed to come up with something, he would completely lose his train of thought and the idea would vanish. He growled and nodded irritably to Sam, finally deciding to play along for the time being. If all he truly wanted to do was talk, his time was a small price to pay for returning the village.  
  
"Excellent!" Sam practically crowed in glee, running over and grabbing Van Helsing's arm before the other man could protest. In a flash, they were gone.

* * *

a/n: hands out cookies to those who've guessed who Sam is already Short chapter, I know, but I came to a good stopping point for the night. Thanks to everyone for their reviews!   
For anyone who's curious as to what Isabel looks like, I drew a picture up of her this evening. It can be found here: www.deviantart.com/view/7704353/  



	4. At the End of Days

Chapter 4: At the End of Days

* * *

When the static in Van Helsing's head cleared, he found himself standing in the middle of a crowded city street. Instinctively, his hand went under his coat to the butt of his pistol, every muscle in his body tensing as he prepared for the expected backlash. But instead, it seemed as if no one had even noticed that he stood there. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and Van Helsing whipped around, the barrel of one pistol jabbing hard into Sam's chest.  
  
"Easy there! Mind the gun," Sam said, pushing the weapon away with a finger. "You'll put someone's eye out with that thing."  
  
Growling, Van Helsing put the gun away. "Where are we?" He'd come to the conclusion long ago that Sam was not human. What he was exactly, though... that was something he didn't have an answer for. The apparent teleportation only helped drive home the fact.  
  
"Barcelona!" Sam said, spreading his arms and turning in a circle with a pleased sigh. "Isn't Spain wonderful? I love these Mediterranean countries."  
  
"You said you wanted to talk, so start talking," Van Helsing snapped. The sooner he got this over with the better. Sam's peculiar aura was starting to make him feel ill. Sam raised one pale eyebrow at Van Helsing and produced a stick of dark chalk from his pocket. Crouching down, he began to draw a series of complex lines and circles on the cobblestone ground. Van Helsing furrowed his brow, his unease growing with each mark Sam made. Finally, the young man stood up and brushed his hands off.  
  
"There. Do you recognize that?" he asked, pointing down to the string of marks.  
  
"It's ... it's ..." Van Helsing struggled to grasp their meaning. It was a word; he knew that much and it's meaning was practically screaming at the back of his mind. He should know it, Goddamnit, what was it? He pressed a hand against the side of his head, feeling a horrible ache coming on. Sam slid up next to him, wrapping an arm around Van Helsing's shoulders and coaxing him on softly.  
  
"It's your name, Gabriel."

* * *

Benito glanced over to where Luis was entertaining Isabel by picking wildflowers with her. Van Helsing had been gone some time and he was beginning to wonder what the man's idea of "not long" was exactly.  
  
"Isabel, Luis, we're going home now," he called to the two finally, turning his horse around. Isabel was at his side a moment later, her small hands griping her grandfather's pant leg. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.  
  
"We can't go yet! Señor Helsing isn't back!" she begged, tugging on his pants. He shook her off, frowning. The child still had a lot of growing up to do, but he didn't blame her. It was the way of the young. He gave her a look that she knew better to question and sent her to Luis' horse, her feet dragging the whole way. Luis hefted her up and set her in front of him in the saddle. As they road off, Isabel craned her head to cast a last glance to where Van Helsing's horse still stood tied to a tree.  
  
"Papa..." she complained as Luis' horse came into stride with Benito's.  
  
He shushed her sharply. "Señor Helsing is a grown man, Isabel. He will find his way back when he's done with whatever it is he is doing. Have you forgotten that you and Luis still have chores to do?"  
  
Isabel crossed her arms and made a face.  
  
"I'll come back later this evening if he hasn't returned," Benito sighed, unable to resist his granddaughter in such a mood. "Will that make you feel better?" She nodded a little, but still seemed upset. Benito knew he could do little to help her spirits, but he trusted that Van Helsing was in capable hands.

* * *

"My name?" Van Helsing ground the words out around clenched teeth, trying to keep from throwing up on the spot. It was because Sam was so close... the man made Van Helsing's stomach churn. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He shoved Sam away violently, staggering back a step and pressing a hand to his mouth as his stomach threatened to rebel.  
  
"Gabriel... Gabriel... what's wrong? Are you ill? Perhaps you need some time to properly digest this information. Shall I take us somewhere else?" Sam said, his voice so terribly friendly. Van Helsing couldn't think straight again. He had to get away... no, he had to fight, but not here. Not with all the people around.  
  
"Stay... stay away from me," he gasped, trying to find a single clear thought in his head and failing. Sam made a sound not unlike a mother trying to comfort a child.  
  
"But we have so much to talk about, Gabriel," he practically purred, inching his way closer. "You just need to sit down and rest for a while. Wouldn't you like to rest? You'll feel much better afterwards and then we can continue our conversation."  
  
He was up next to Van Helsing again and all rational thought took flight. Sitting down and resting sounded like a very good idea. He was tired, after all. It felt as if he had been running around forever without a rest. Going here... going there... never stopping. Do this, do that. He opened his mouth to say something at the exact moment that he dropped his arms to his side. Something fell into his hand. Before Van Helsing could properly register what he was doing, his fingers had wrapped around the hilt of his Tojo blade, cranking the gears and lashing out at Sam. The cruel buzz saw blades found their mark in flesh and bone, biting into Sam's ribs with a sickening crunch. Blood was everywhere and a second later it seemed as if the world around them had suddenly snapped back to reality. Sam's body hit the pavement, lifeless and then the screaming started. It seemed as if all of Barcelona shrieked at once and everyone seemed to want to run in a different direction. Bodies slammed into Van Helsing and he could see people tripping over Sam's corpse as they desperately tried to run away. He was buffeted from all sides, hands grabbing as they passed and feet trampling over anything that got in their way as the whole crowd panicked.  
  
He screamed, bellowed for a clear path and surged into the mob, pushing forward even as those sane enough to realize what had happened tried to stop him. He shook them off, overpowering them in his desperation to flee. He glanced back once and saw, for a split second, the marks on the pavement, half scuffed away and covered in blood. His name...  
  
He stuffed a hand into his coat, finding the grapple gun kept there and pointed it towards the rooftops. It shot off and a second later he was yanked free of the suffocating mob and rocketed skyward. The world spun around him and he tumbled onto a roof, rolling several times before coming to a stop against the opposite edge. He scrambled to his feet even as he shook the tether loose and set the grapple gun to retract the line all the way.  
  
Below him in the street, he could see fingers pointing his way and voices raised above the others. He gulped down several calming breaths and took off across the rooftops. If he was lucky he could vanish before they brought the rifles to bear on him.

* * *

Van Helsing could hear feet pounding the pavement outside the empty shack he had discovered on the outskirts of Barcelona. Several times men had stuck their heads in to check, but they hadn't seen him crouching in a corner of the decaying rafters. It was a miracle they hadn't given out yet. This wasn't like him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that had come over him when Sam had told him those marks were his name. For some reason, it seemed that that simple fact was the single most important thing in the world and he couldn't figure out why. He was almost ready to admit that, for the first time he could remember, he was honestly terrified.  
  
Eventually, the sounds of the searches died away outside and were replaced by the gentle ambience of the city. Van Helsing carefully unfolded himself from his hiding spot, his joints stiff from his time spent holding still. Grunting, he dropped to the ground and winced at the pins-and-needles feeling that shot up both legs. He stretched them out briefly and slunk out of the shack, still on guard. Thankfully the streets were empty and he slipped out unnoticed.  
  
It was difficult moving about the city unnoticed, but there was one last thing Van Helsing had to do before he could leave Barcelona: he had to find a horse. Finding a stable was slow and tedious work; it was bad enough he didn't know the layout of the city, but trying to navigate it without being seen was even worse. There were several close calls and more than once he thought that he'd have to go looking for another hiding place, but he did eventually make it to a small stable safely.  
  
It was simple enough finding a suitable horse with the stable hand asleep at the other end of the building and for the sake of urgency, Van Helsing bypassed the various tack for the animal and simply lead it out by the rope that had previously been keeping it tied in its pen. It had been quite some time since he had ridden bareback, but he didn't have much of a choice at the moment. As soon as he was clear of the stable, he swung up onto the horse and took off at a gallop out of Barcelona, the shouts of police at his back.  
  
The sun was just beginning to set when Van Helsing's horse suddenly bucked wildly and collapsed under him, sending him tumbling across the grass. When he righted himself, he saw the horse laying motionless several yards away, as if it had dropped dead on the spot. Glancing around, all he could see was grass, a few trees and a lot of sky. No sign of anyone else or any kind of civilization.  
  
When the static started in his head, his heart just about dropped into his stomach. No, he was dead! Van Helsing leapt to his feet, his sword singing as it left the sheath and when he turned he saw Sam, as expected, standing some distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. The young man looked none the worse for wear; even his clothes were immaculate. He unfolded his hands to reveal a saber in his hand.  
  
"Honestly, Gabriel, you're so quick to lash out. Was that really necessary?" Sam said, his tone even. He let out a heavy sigh. "All you had to do was talk with me for a little while and you went and made a scene instead. Now I know why you had your memories taken away from you. You're so ... impulsive!"  
  
Van Helsing forced his breathing into a steady rhythm, focusing his eyes on Sam's face. He had to keep a clear head. "Who are you?" he demanded, finally fed up with all of Sam's half veiled remarks. "How do you know me?"  
  
Sam's expression fell into a disappointed frown. "You had your chance to ask questions and you gave it up! For this!" He lifted his shirt. Under the fabric was a disgusting gash, large enough for Van Helsing to easily identify the various bits of gore that were hanging out. Sam let his shirt drop and it was as if the wound had never been there. Van Helsing shook his head and blinked.  
  
"Now..." Sam began, practically strolling towards Van Helsing, "now it is time for action, although I don't see how this will be much of a challenge. You're just a shell of your former self, Gabriel. I would have loved to fight you as you were, but I suppose that's just not going to happen. Life is full of disappointments. Wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Van Helsing didn't answer. He didn't need to, because something told him Sam didn't expect one. The strange young man stopped a few paces from Van Helsing, his rapier held out in an opening stance.  
  
"We had high hopes for you, Gabriel. Really we did. It's a shame it has to end this way," Sam said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. Van Helsing simply snarled and lunged into action. He had hoped to catch Sam off guard with the sudden attack, but the man seemed perpetually on his toes and danced out of the way, his rapier coming down across Van Helsing's back. Van Helsing turned, catching Sam's next blow between the still edges of a Tojo blade. He twisted Sam's sword away, stepping forward and leading with his own weapon. Sam pivoted to one side, but the blade still sliced through his side. The wound smoked and Sam hissed through his teeth.  
  
"Is that a holy blade, Gabriel? Oh, that's cheating," he growled, spinning on the balls of his feet and slamming an elbow into Van Helsing's temple. He staggered backwards, his vision swimming, but remained on his feet. Sam closed the distance in a single long-legged stride and swung the hilt of his blade towards Van Helsing's shoulder. The blow was halted as Van Helsing brought his arm up against Sam's wrist and slipped in under the young man's defense, burying his Tojo blade into Sam's chest. He pushed back, sending Sam stumbling.  
  
Sam looked down at the blades protruding from his torso and sighed. "Didn't you learn your lesson the first time? Save yourself the trouble, Gabriel. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor here."  
  
Van Helsing didn't even have time to register Sam's next move it was so fast. Before he knew it, Sam was directly in front of him, his rapier biting down across his chest, opening up a deep gash that send him reeling. Sam didn't let up, his blade finding Van Helsing's face and side before he finally plunged the weapon through the stomach of the Holy Order's finest warrior.  
  
Van Helsing wheezed, black creeping up on the edges of his vision as he stared at Sam's disturbingly serene face. Van Helsing's blade dropped from his numb fingers and he sagged against Sam, who wrenched his rapier free and stepped back to let Van Helsing crumble to the ground. Grimacing, Sam removed the Tojo blade from his chest and crouched down next to Van Helsing's head.  
  
"We had hoped that Vladislaus would do this job for us and we wouldn't have to get involved, but I'm afraid we overlooked the simple fact that he couldn't kill his friend," Sam said, sighing softly and cranking the Tojo blade into motion. "Luckily, there are others in this world who are more willing to ignore little things like that. In these final moments, Gabriel, I would suggest that you start praying that God will accept you back into His mercy."  
  
Sam stood up and regarded Van Helsing curiously for a moment before flicking the Tojo blade out of his hand. The weapon sang through the air and buried itself solidly in Van Helsing's back. Without a second glance, Sam turned and walked away.

* * *

The pain was excruciating. Van Helsing had never felt anything like it before and he knew without a doubt that he was going to die. When the Tojo blade had entered his back, he had felt it hit his spine and then he had lost all feeling in his legs. It was hopeless. In a force of sheer will, he rolled himself onto his side, not even bothering to stop the scream of agony the movement invoked. For a long moment, it was all he could do to keep from giving in to the black that threatened to consume him. When some amount of clarity returned to him, he reached a hand down and found the old rosary he had placed in his pocket before leaving Rome. He wrapped it around his hands and clutched it tight, his voice gurgling up from his failing lungs.  
  
"Hail Mary, full of grace... the Lord is with thee... blessed are thou... among women and blessed is... the fruit of thy womb, Jesus... Holy Mary, Mother of God... pray for us sinners... now... and at the hour... of our death... Hail Mary... full of grace... the Lord is ...with thee..."

* * *

a/n: I hope this makes up for the fact that the last chapter was... lacking. I'd like to think that Sam has reached the pinacle of asshole- ishness by this point. Ah, he'll be back... but will Van Helsing?? I guess it woldn't be much of a Van Helsing fanfic if he wasn't... but death is kind of hard to dodge. Hmmm. 


	5. The Ache of 400 Years

Chapter 5: The Ache of 400 Years

* * *

Gabriel awoke to the sounds of quiet talking and, somewhere distant, the sound of birds. The voices echoed, low and masculine and he knew at least he wasn't outside somewhere. No, he decided, he was somewhere safe, if the overwhelming sense of peace was any indication. There were few places where he would not have shot up, weapons at the ready and wide awake and this seemed to be one of the few, although he couldn't seem to recall just yet where exactly he was. His mind still groggy from what had apparently been a very heavy and deep sleep, all he could remember was the northern lands, where he had been the past few weeks. He'd been hunting a Banshee and the whole land had filled him with a kind of malaise that he certainly didn't feel presently.  
  
He could have easily given back in to sleep, but the dim red glow behind his still closed eyelids told him it was already well into the morning and he had to get up. That the sun had risen already meant that he'd grievously overslept. He rolled over, pain shooting up his back and he felt the edges of steps pressing into his skin through his clothes. Groaning, he draped an arm across his forehead and opened his eyes, squinting against the light that seemed to filter down to him in all kinds of colors. He wasn't sure if there was a reason for this or if he was just seeing spots. As he sat up, his eyes adjusting, he found that he was looking down several rows of... pews. A church. No wonder he had felt so comfortable here. He rested on the steps he had apparently fallen asleep on, waiting for the dull throbbing in his spine to die down and took stock of the building he found himself in.  
  
The church was surprisingly small, enough to fit a small foyer up front, a handful of pew rows and the sanctuary, the stairs to which he discovered he'd been laying on. The alter loomed up on his right and inset into the wall behind it was a massive stained glass window in the shape of a luminous cross. Age worn tapestries lined the walls and he could see large candle posts raising above the pews every few rows. Gabriel rubbed his face and remembered where he was: West Romania. The small, unnamed church belonged to a local village that was often used as a waypoint for more active members of the Holy Order moving through the area on business. He was supposed to meet a friend here.  
  
The sound of voices caught his attention again and he looked up to find a few monks talking quietly near the front doors. One glanced towards Gabriel, but quickly averted his eyes when he saw that he was being watched. With a sigh, Gabriel straitened himself up, pausing to make sure his weapons were still on him before making his way down the center isle between the pews. As he neared, the monks quickly made themselves scarce, slipping away down another isle towards the sanctuary.  
  
Gabriel had to admit, passing out at the foot of a church alter was a new one for him and he had a long list of strange places to wake up to. Like the time he'd found himself under a porch in southern France. Sleep, when he found the time and the peace of mind for it, always left him dazed and confused for a little while after waking up. He always slept deeply and never dreamed. Just a few of the reasons he didn't take as much pleasure in the activity as others. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, tucking some of it behind an ear and stepped out into the glaring morning sun.  
  
He blinked a few times, waiting for the world to come back into focus when he heard his name being called. When he could see again, he turned his head to see a dark-haired man walking in his direction, one arm raised in greeting.  
  
"Gabriel, I knew I would see you here, but not like this," he began in native Romanian. "You should take a break, my friend. You are wearing yourself out."  
  
Gabriel smiled despite himself and returned the hug the other man gave him as they met. "It's hard to take a break from life, Vladislaus. I didn't keep you waiting, did I?"  
  
Vladislaus shook his head. "I am known here, and the people are hospitable. I found enough distractions while waiting for you to finally wake up. Come, walk with me." He gestured towards the town square and the two fell into pace together.  
  
"You surprised some of the town, coming in the middle of the night like you did, Gabriel. The priest here was in a panic until I told him you were my friend," Vladislaus explained at length. "The children have made up the story that you rolled out of your bed in heaven and fell to earth."  
  
Gabriel couldn't help but laugh, an honest smile spreading across his face. "They are still young enough to know me." He paused at that, his expression falling slightly. "I miss the children most of all, Vlad," he said finally, the words sounding forced.  
  
Vladislaus stopped and turned to stand in front of Gabriel, regarding his friend with a serious expression before breaking out into a smile and laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Don't look so sad. He has not forsaken you and I believe that God has guided me here today to keep you with a sane mind, which only proves His infinite grace." He gestured dramatically skyward.  
  
Gabriel couldn't help but chuckle, his mood lifting again. "You put so much faith in God, Vlad. Could you have not come here because I am your friend?"  
  
"I am your friend because of God," Vladislaus answered, drawing a tight, uneven smile from Gabriel in response. Perhaps Vladislaus had not meant for his comment to be taken as a barb, but Gabriel couldn't help but find himself somewhat hurt by it. 'Do you simply entertain my company,' he wondered sadly, 'because it is God's will?'  
  
"Well, then I will be sure to thank Him for your presence this day," Gabriel said, patting his friend on the back. The gesture only caused Vladislaus to suck in a breath and take a step back. Gabriel frowned, retaking the distance between them.  
  
"Are you hurt?" he worried, moving a hand towards Vladislaus.  
  
He only pushed it away, shaking his head. "It's nothing," he said, brushing the issue off and glancing over Gabriel's shoulder. "I must have slept wrong. It seems your attention is needed elsewhere, my friend. Please, come and find me at the inn when you are done and we'll have something to eat."  
  
Gabriel didn't even have time to voice any protest before Vladislaus had turned and walked off. Frustrated and confused, Gabriel turned around with a scowl: an expression that only deepened as he beheld an almost blinding light. He raised an arm to shield his eyes before the light slowly faded and a man stepped forward. He was glorious to look upon, his face and body perfect, his clothes spotless, as if every thread was in order. A far cry from Gabriel's own worn traveling attire and sleep-tangled hair. The man folded six magnificent, green colored wings behind his back and smiled.  
  
Gabriel could only feel his mood dropping. "Hello, Michael." He knew the archangel never appeared unless he had a higher order for Gabriel, most of which involved something or someone meeting a rather untimely end. Unfortunately, since Gabriel had become earth bound, he found himself restricted more and more by human rules and he discovered that even if he still fancied himself angelic in spirit, his body was painfully human. The orders that still came down to him on occasion from Michael himself only added to the burden he already carried for the Holy Order. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could go back to the old ways. But then, that was the purpose of being punished, wasn't it? To make one realize that they had been wrong and doing things correctly really was in their best interests. Gabriel was coming to understand this logic very swiftly.  
  
"Every time I see you, you've got that frown on. Don't tell me you've taken such a dislike for your duty," the archangel said, his voice barely a whisper, yet perfectly audible.  
  
"I do what I have to do," Gabriel answered and switched the topic. "What news do you have for me?"  
  
Michael hummed softly in response, and then spoke. "Your devotion may serve you well. Come closer, my old comrade. There is much I must tell you."  
  
Gabriel hesitated. "What is this?"  
  
"A test, brother. A test of faith."

* * *

"When we travel together, I can hear him cry out at night... as if he were being torn apart. He tries to hide the marks on his head and hands, but I still see them... and today, he drew away from my touch as if it pained him," Gabriel spoke sadly, sitting with Michael in the woods at the northern edge of town.  
  
Michael touched Gabriel's cheek lightly and turned his head to look into his eyes. "If you look close enough at anything, my brother, you will see things that you do not wish to see at all. Vladislaus is a good and pure man, but his spirit has grown weak. He sees many thing he does not wish to and we are concerned."  
  
Gabriel's eyes widened and he stood up suddenly. "He's a Holy Knight, Michael! You can't mean for me to KILL him!"  
  
Michael stood up as well; his wings flaring and eyes narrowing. "I can and I will! You have no place to question what He tells you to do, Gabriel. Have you forgotten what happened to the last one that thought he was so high? Have you forgotten why you are here in the first place? Disobedience, Gabriel! You will know your place in His grace once more if you do what you're told."  
  
"And what of you?" Gabriel practically shouted, advancing on Michael. "Is your faith so strong simply because you have not been asked to do something you do not wish to do?"  
  
"I do what I need to do because of my faith! You can not question God, Gabriel!"  
  
Gabriel could feel the fury rising up inside of him and he wondered, for a moment, if he was supposed to get angry; if Michael was supposed to get him so upset that he would act out of rage.  
  
After a moment, Michael's expression softened and he seemed to relax. "You are my brother, Gabriel: His other hand. You should know that God's wisdom extends far beyond our own. How can you say these things, knowing Him? Are you so human now?"  
  
Gabriel had no answer to that question. He stood in silence for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking towards the town. He'd had enough of Michael's words and enough talk of his duty. Vladislaus was perhaps the only true friend he had in the world and not even his love for God could drive him to betray the love he felt for his friend. The last person on earth that he would kill was Vladislaus Dragulia.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for the spelling corrections last chapter. I'm sorry this chapter is a little late in coming. Between school and a brief episode of writer's block, I was stymied. I hope I'm not to vauge on the dynamics between Van Helsing and Vladislaus... there's so much there that wasn't explained and I'm trying to make sense of it all. BIG HUGE thanks goes out to my friend Elisse for helping me brainstorm and for a few lines that I used. ;) Thanks, hun. You're a good muse.  



	6. Divine Judgement

Chapter 6: Divine Judgement

* * *

"Gabriel, is something wrong? You haven't even touched your food," Vladislaus asked, his voice concerned as he regarded his friend across the table they were sharing at the back of the local inn. Gabriel had reluctantly taken Vladislaus up on his offer for breakfast after he had stormed away from Michael, although he found it hard to look at his friend with the archangel's orders still fresh in his mind. Instead, he occupied himself with picking halfheartedly at his plate, his appetite gone. All he could think about was how he was going to explain to Vladislaus that he was marked for death. The thought of explaining it to the Order paled in comparison. He glanced up, searching Vladislaus' worried face for any sign of what Michael had spoke of. Gabriel knew that his friend seemed more ragged around the edges than he remembered, but he had brushed it off, knowing personally that work for the Order often did that to a person. It was a rough life, but certainly not one that would take such a toll on a man as to destroy his spirit. It was God's work and if nothing else, no one could question Vladislaus' love for God. Was Michael worried that he would take it too far? Did he see Vladislaus' zeal as overstepping his bounds? Who were they to question a man's devotion to his faith?  
  
Gabriel shook his head, both to clear his mind of the thoughts and to put his friend at ease. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still too tired to eat," he said with a sigh.  
  
Vladislaus pushed his plate back and smiled. "It's alright. Come, I arranged some horses while you were still asleep. Transylvania is not far from here and we can spend some time at the manor."  
  
Gabriel nodded, but he knew spending time with the man's family was the last thing his spirit needed. How could he look at old Valerious the Elder and not feel like a knife was being driven into his heart? He forced a smile and stood up, stopping when he noticed Vladislaus looking at something across the room. Gabriel turned to follow his gaze, but all he saw were a few common peasants and the workers of the inn: no one of particular importance.  
  
"Vlad?"  
  
Hearing his name seemed to snap the older man out of his trance and he jumped as he looked back to Gabriel. "What? I... I'm sorry, I thought I saw something." He turned away and hurried from the building. Gabriel frowned and followed after a moment, wondering if maybe his friendship was blinding him to the truth about Vladislaus.

* * *

Vladislaus seemed in a hurry to return to his ancestral land and Gabriel noticed the man cross himself before they left town, as if he seemed uncomfortable away from civilization. It only increased Gabriel's worry. Is this was paranoia was like, he wondered? That small seed of doubt that grew until it consumed a man? The notion terrified him. Not for the first time, he cursed Michael for planting that seed: for giving him new eyes with which to look upon his friend. It wasn't right, he raged at himself when he found himself critisizing every move his friend made; watching his every action for some kind of evidence for or against Michael's words. The archangel had done his job well: he'd placed doubt within Gabriel and now he had no choice but to weigh his words against Vladislaus' actions. Every turn of his head, every shift of his eyes, every limp, gesture and inflection in his voice was analyzed by Gabriel against his better judgment as he searched for that one thing that would give him cause for murder in God's name. It was enough to drive a man insane and Gabriel wondered if that would, in fact, be the ultimate outcome. Michael had told him that this was a test of faith—and what greater test than the murder of your closest friend—but he wondered at what price it would come at. Were all of God's servants doomed to insanity?  
  
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice that Vladislaus was no longer with him until he heard his horse's whinny from behind him. He pulled up on his reigns, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end: the air was heavy with ill will. Turning his horse around, Gabriel found Vladislaus laying prone in the middle of the road, a white figure hunched over him. It glanced up as Gabriel's gaze found it and then... was gone. Had it even been there in the first place?  
  
Gabriel dismounted and ran to his friend's side. Evil still permeated the area, like a lingering stench. The woods weren't known as cursed, and it made little sense for some spirit to attack Vladislaus so blatantly. Gabriel moved to help his friend sit up, but Vladislaus only cried out and lurched away from his grip. Shocked, Gabriel looked down at his hand, finding it covered in blood. A glance to Vladislaus' clothes found them in a similar state along one side. Gabriel knew that wound. Growling, he grabbed one of Vladislaus' hands, ripping the glove off and turned his palm up. As he had expected, there was a wound in the center of his hand that had apparently been there for several days, as it had dried around the edges. Gabriel could guess as to the presence of other such wounds, but instead of the concern he should have felt, all he was filled with was anger and a sense of betrayal.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, throwing Vladislaus' arm down. His friend had been suffering stigmata and he hadn't even uttered a word.  
  
Vladislaus cradled his exposed hand to his chest and struggled to sit up. "This is not your burden to carry," he started only to be interrupted by a dangerous snarl from Gabriel.  
  
"Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? What else are you hiding from me, Vladislaus?" He received no answer, only a look filled with pain. "Why won't you let me help you?"  
  
"What could you offer me?" Vladislaus gasped, obviously fighting against the pain in his side. "This is between God and I, Gabriel."  
  
A tense silence stretched between the two, broken only as Gabriel stood and pulled Vladislaus to his feet. He helped the other man to his horse, climbing onto the saddle behind him. They rode the rest of the way into Transylvania in silence and Gabriel could feel his heart bleeding away with each hour that passed. The trust that he placed in his friend that he had already started to question was ripped away and it left his soul raw. The passion that Vladislaus pursued do doggedly had consumed him and Gabriel found himself suddenly without a place in his friend's life. Michael had been right then: the situation was becoming dangerous. Vladislaus was an important member of the Valerious family and they were too precious to the workings of the Order to let a weak link bring them down. Gabriel steeled his resolve; Vladislaus had to be removed.

* * *

That evening found him sitting beside Vladislaus' bed as the older man slept. Gabriel still wasn't sure himself what possessed him to suddenly want to be by his friend's side. Perhaps he thought that if he left, the will to do his duty that he had so recently found would leave him and he would once again find himself simply questioning, but not believing. He had to keep himself focused or it would all slip through his fingers. It would be better this way, he reasoned.  
  
Gabriel was startled by the sound of the door opening and he jerked his head up to find the imposing figure of Valerious the Elder standing in the doorway. Gabriel inclined his head slightly and Valerious pulled another chair up along the opposite side of his son's bed at the silent invitation.  
  
"His spirit grows weak," Gabriel said at length, his voice quiet and dull. "We are concerned." When the old knight across from him offered nothing in response, he continued. "We suspect the work of demons."  
  
Gabriel could feel Valerious' piercing gaze on him and he ducked his head, averting his eyes. He didn't know of the conversation Gabriel had had with Michael earlier...

* * *

He stood on one of the sweeping balconies of the manor, the rain that was pouring down seeming to never quite reach him. The archangel remained blissfully dry while his comrade quickly became soaked to the bone. It seemed fitting, somehow.  
  
"I saw when Vladislaus fell, Gabriel," Michael started, clasping his hands behind his back. "After you left, I discovered several of our former ranks hiding along the road. This is not the first time Vladislaus has had contact with unholy creatures, as they told me that they visit him often. Perhaps it's a lie to force us to assume the worse, but..." He paused and turned his unblinking gaze on Gabriel. "Can we afford to take the chance?"  
  
Gabriel let his soaked hair hide his expression and didn't answer. He was angry with Michael for just not coming strait out and saying that Vladislaus was consorting with demons. No, that would have been too easy for the archangel... he was going to make Gabriel draw that conclusion on his own. What a beast, he thought bitterly, leaving it in my hands. God's messenger couldn't even deliver the blasted message himself.  
  
Michael turned and spread a wing out over Gabriel's head. The gesture only managed to irritate him more. "This isn't a decision you have to make, Gabriel," Michael said evenly, "it's a direct order. All I'm doing is giving you a little motivation."  
  
Motivation to turn on his friend, Gabriel elaborated silently and clenched his jaw. "Leave me be, Michael. I will do what you want." The archangel lingered a moment in silence before stepping away and then simply was no longer there. Gabriel stood in the rain alone for some time, contemplating Vladislaus' last hours on earth.

* * *

"My son is not an evil man," Valerious said at length. Gabriel could feel the weight of the old knight's gaze on him, even though he didn't dare to meet his eyes. If he did, he was afraid that all the will he had mustered to this point would be gone in a second.  
  
"You cannot change this," Gabriel answered. "Beseech God if you will, but He has turned His eyes from this one." The chill in his voice secretly terrified him, but it was the only way he was going to be able to go through with the act. He stood in one smooth motion, the scrape of his chair against the floor sounding too loud in the otherwise quiet room and he moved his hand to the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. He swung the blade free from it's sheath with deadly, practiced ease, but pointed the tip not at the prone Vladislaus, but at Valerious, who was on his feet in the same second, his own hand halfway to his weapon. Gabriel stared at the old knight down the length of his sword, two great white wings fanning out halfway behind his shoulders. Perhaps the wings were over the top, he mused morbidly, but he could use every ounce of intimidation he could get. For he knew that Valerious would fight him with everything he had if he thought that he could somehow get the upper hand. A father's love for his son was something that even Gabriel would not question, which was why he would give the old man no chance to act on it.  
  
The archangel squared his shoulders and spoke: "Step... back, sir. With God as my witness, I declare this man unclean in the eyes of our Lord and thus sentenced to death in the name of the Almighty, the Divine who is my strength. If you are a God fearing man, Valerious, you will not stand against His will."  
  
In the silence that stretched between the two holy warriors, the sudden intake of breath from the direction of the bed was all the warning Gabriel needed. He twisted to the side just as the long blade of a dagger sliced through the air where he had been standing not moments before. It was held by none other than Vladislaus, his dark eyes narrowed and fixed solidly on Gabriel.  
  
"How DARE you!" he all but screamed, lunging out of bed and crashing headlong into a now surprised Gabriel. The two tumbled to the ground, blades skittering away across the floor in opposite directions and Gabriel could feel the pain in his back as a wing was twisted at an unnatural angle. As the two struggled on the other side of the room, the elder Valerious went again for his sword and was once again stopped. A man in white was suddenly at his side, twisting his arm behind his back and holding the other firmly against his side with inhuman strength.  
  
"The last thing they need is a third party," the man said good-naturedly, pulling Valerious farther away.  
  
"Unhand me, demon," he demanded, confident that the man restraining him was neither human nor one of God's servants, but the man merely chuckled, peering over Valerious' shoulder to watch the two combatants on the other side of the room.  
  
"Didn't Gabriel tell you to keep your nose out of his business?" the man asked, glancing at Valerious with bright blue eyes. "I'm doing us all a favor so you don't get yourself chopped up as well. He can ... forget himself in the heat of battle sometimes." Valerious didn't grace the man's words with a reply, pressing his lips together sternly and fixing his gaze on the small-scale war being waged across the room.  
  
Gabriel and Vladislaus had regained their weapons, but the fight was painfully one-sided. Even in his rage, Vladislaus was no match against an angel, but he pressed on, seemingly heedless of the wounds inflicted upon him. Already his left arm hung limp at his side, his shoulder ruined. The blood from the debilitating wound splattered across the wooden floor, making it slippery and dangerous, although more than once Vladislaus had managed to avoid a killing blow as his feet slid out from under him and sent him crashing down. It was a bloody, desperate struggle and for both men, the world had narrowed down to the single primal urge to vanquish their opponent.  
  
Finally, only a handful of minutes after it had started, the battle came to a sudden halt. Gabriel was sure that he would remember the moment for the rest of his immortal life; Vladislaus' legs gave out under him suddenly—whether it was from physical exhaustion or his will had just finally given up Gabriel would never know—and he had crashed to the ground. Without thinking, Gabriel followed him, falling onto his old friend and plunging his blade into the man's chest. Vladislaus screamed, his once proud voice spitting curses at Gabriel, God, and the world... anything he could think of. Gabriel could hear the gurgle in his lungs and knew that it wouldn't be long. He collapsed forward, clutching his sword in a desperate attempt to keep himself upright, but it was a struggle he ultimately lost, pressing his forehead against Vladislaus' chest. He could hear his heartbeat, erratic and fading and all he could do was pray desperately that God would accept his friend and he could find peace at last.  
  
Vladislaus stilled a second later, but Gabriel could still hear the faint, occasional thump of his heart. Suddenly, a flash of movement over the bed caught his eye and he lifted his head just in time to find himself being pushed out of the way by the man in white. Such was the force behind the offhand act that Gabriel crashed against the far wall, landing dazed in a corner.  
  
"Three... two..." he could hear the man in white saying, hunched over the dying form of Vladislaus. "...And one!" The man flicked his arm up, gesturing sharply with his hand and Gabriel saw Vladislaus' body jerk and heard his friend take a deep gasp of air. No... the word registered in his mind, but never found voice.  
  
"Samael!"  
  
The man in white snapped upright, spinning on his toes to face Gabriel. He jabbed a finger towards the bloody and exhausted angel laying on the floor, his face stretched into a wide grin. "Finally got one up on you, Gabriel! It feels really good, I'll tell you that. It was getting to the point where I was about to take care of things myself because I was getting REALLY tired of listening to you whine. If I were Michael, I would have hit you long ago."  
  
Gabriel struggled to his feet, growling at the white-clothed demon before his attention was abruptly drawn elsewhere. The only door in the room swung open and a man walked in, preceded by the faintest of breezes that nevertheless seemed to reach strait down into Gabriel's bones and freeze them solid. The man was dressed in long robes of white, gold and pale blue; bone-white hair hung about his tanned face in tiny curls that just barely reached his black eyes. He spread his hands, the faintest of smiles tugging at his mouth and the door slid shut behind him. He turned his head to regard Valerious the Elder and all color seemed to drain from the old knight's face. He knew immediately who he was looking at and he hastily crossed himself.  
  
The dark-skinned man let out a long sigh. "Please, don't fool yourself into thinking that will honestly do any good, old man. Still, you need not worry... it is not you that I'm here for this night," he said, turning his gaze to where Samael still stood, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him, Vladislaus rose shakily to his feet—Gabriel's sword still protruding from his chest—and the dark-skinned man extended a hand, his expression seeming to radiate infinite kindness. It made Gabriel want to throw up.  
  
"His soul is not yours to take, Lucifer," Gabriel protested, his fingers tightening into fists.  
  
Lucifer just laughed and looked at Gabriel as one might look down upon a small child. "I beg to differ: his soul has been ours for quite some time," he said slowly, stepping carefully around the bed to join Samael and Vladislaus. "Does it make you angry, Gabriel, to know that he hid it so well? Does it fill you with righteous fury to know that he praised your God with one hand at the same time that he held my hand with his other?" His voice was disturbingly calm, as if he were simply talking about yesterday's lunch as he slid the sword from Vladislaus' chest with a sickeningly wet sound. Turning, he tossed it at Gabriel's feet.  
  
The archangel clenched his jaw, knowing full well that he couldn't do a single thing to either Samael or Lucifer without risking God's wrath. He had not been ordered to attack them and could therefore do nothing. He wasn't sure which was more infuriating: seeing his former friend in the company of demons and not being able to do a thing about it or the knowledge that he had practically handed them the man's soul on a silver platter. When Vladislaus turned his gaze on him, Gabriel would have wished for nothing more than for the earth to swallow him up.  
  
"Where is God's mercy, Gabriel?" he demanded, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and anger. "You were like a brother to me... yet you so easily betray me in His name. If that is truly His mercy at work, then I will show the world what the Grace of God is."  
  
Lucifer laid a gentle hand on Vladislaus' arm, calming the man. "Come, Vlad. We have no more business here."  
  
"You have business with me, Lucifer."  
  
All eyes turned towards the door at the new voice. Michael stood just outside in the hall, his six great wings blocking any from leaving the room. His expression was stern as he stared strait across at his ancient rival. Lucifer smiled that pleasant smile of his, nodded politely to Vladislaus and moved back around the bed to stand on the other side of the threshold from Michael, folding his hands neatly in front of him.  
  
"You can't stop me from taking him," the demon pointed out. "But perhaps you would care to ... continue this conversation outside?" He tilted his head expectantly. Michael stepped to the side accordingly and allowed Lucifer to enter the hall. The two exchanged glances briefly before vanishing down the hall. For several moments, silence hung heavy in the room before Samael broke it with an announcement that he was leaving. Grabbing Vladislaus by the arm, he yanked the man from the room, slipping into the hall and a moment later, both Gabriel and Valerious followed in chase.

* * *

The world spun around Gabriel as he threw himself against Samael, tackling the demon to the ground and sending them rolling. He registered that they were in a foyer somewhere near the armory, which not the most optimal place to be, but Gabriel didn't have much of a choice. He could hear the demon spitting curses at him as they grappled, rolling across the floor before Samael flipped Gabriel over and kicked him off into a nearby table. Giving his head a quick shake to clear it, Gabriel sprang back to his feet and yanked Samael back as he tried to make a grab for Vladislaus, who was scrambling back to his feet after being dragged down in the original scuffle.  
  
As Gabriel threw Samael across the foyer, Valerious caught his son's arms, twisting the man around and sending him staggering towards the wall. The old man bellowed string after string of Latin enchantments and Gabriel had time to scream a protest before Vladislaus' back hit the wall and it swallowed him whole.  
  
Across the room, Samael picked himself up from the ruins of a suit of armor and jerked his head in the direction of Valerious, rage plain on his face. "You beast!" he hissed, rushing for the old knight only to be stopped as Gabriel grabbed his arms. "Where did you learn that?!"  
  
Valerious collapsed into a chair, suddenly feeling his age. "You forget who you address, demon," he said quietly, his breath rattling in his lungs. The effort had taken more out of him than he had expected and he was silently grateful for Gabriel's restraint of the practically frothing demon across the way.  
  
"You filthy Holy Knight! You're just delaying the inevitable!" Samael shrieked, shaking himself out of Gabriel's grip and lurching back several steps. He pointed sharply at the archangel. "And you! YOU! Mark my words, Gabriel: if God doesn't get you, I will!" He spat at Gabriel's feet before turning and bolting from the room. Gabriel turned tired eyes to Valerious, who returned his look with a heavy sigh.  
  
"I must go to Rome," he said slowly. "I must speak with God."

* * *

a/n: Good heavens! Another late chapter, but even after I thwarted the mighty beast that is writer's block, I promised myself that I wouldn't end this chapter until I had finished things with Vlad. So this chapter ended up being the longest yet. I hope it was worth the wait.   
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's reviewed! I'm glad you are enjoying the story! I know IceQueen has figured out Sam, but for the rest of you who still weren't sure, I hope this chapter has removed those question marks. I thought about recycling lines to make it obvious, but where's the fun in that? ;)  
Stay tuned, same wangsty time, same wangsty channel! (plays the Batman theme)  



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